A fair warning before you begin; this is another sad one, character death, some angst and some ooc.
So anyway. I was listening to My Boy Builds Coffins by Florence + The Machine and this was sort of spawned. It still basically a rough draft, so there's probably a few mistakes to be found, but that's how it's going to stay...I don't have it in me to go through it again.
Please try to enjoy~
My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails
He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails
He doesn't make tables, dressers or chairs
He can't carve a whistle cause he just doesn't care
My boy builds coffins for better or worse
Some say it's a blessing, some say it's a curse
He fits them together in sunshine or rain
Each one is unique, no two are the same
Everyone knew who he was, had heard of him, could point him out in a crowd. Everyone had heard the rumors and everyone knew that he was different, that something was wrong with him. But no one actually knew him. No one talked to him. When he walked down the street, headed into town at seven thirty every morning, the people in their cars on the way to work would send side long glances at him through their car windows, but no one would stop to see if he needed or wanted a ride. Rain or shine, winter or summer, he walked into town every morning, quiet and lonely, his eyes trained more toward his feet than toward where he was going.
In the evenings, he would walk that same path, in the opposite direction and the people passing by him on the sidewalk would give him a wide birth or cross to the other side of the street. They whispered about him, pointed, some even laughed and the younger kids sometimes threw things, but no one knew why. He never said anything to anybody and had long ago given up on caring about what was said about him. People were cruel to those they didn't understand and he had given up on asking why or reprimanding them. He just didn't care anymore and neither did anyone else.
So each morning he walked into town alone and each evening he walked back home in silence, his eyes down cast and his steps even, unhurried but not exactly slow. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his lean shoulders hunched slightly with the weight of a situation he couldn't change and so had given up trying long ago. His strange appearance made him stand out and maybe that's why people talked, pointed, maybe that's why they avoided him and preferred if they never got to know him. His skin was of a sickly pallor, whiter than pale and his eyes were dark where they shouldn't have been. His hair was long and as colorless as the rest of him. He stood out and people that were different were never treated well.
He wasn't hard to spot, he was the only light colored thing in a dirty and shadowed city and every day for the past two weeks, Grimmjow watched him out the window as he walked by the little shop the bigger man drank his morning coffee at. Something about the pale man was oddly tragic in a beautiful and fragile way.
"He's a strange creature, isn't he though?" A middle aged woman with a slight southern accent said as she poured him a fresh cup of black coffee. She had noticed how her regular's attention seemed drawn by the odd outcast.
Grimmjow merely grunted in reply, handing her a few bills to pay for his coffee so that she'd leave him alone. When the man disappeared from Grimmjow's line of sight, he stood, dropping a few more bills on the table as a tip, and walked out the door to begin his day.
After those two weeks of observing the man, it was by complete happenstance that he would catch on to the pale man's evening journey. After being stuck at work late, Grimmjow arrived to the small family restaurant he frequented later in the evening than normal. He took a seat by the window, much as he did in the mornings, and one of the younger girls that worked the night shift brought him his usual. Just as his food was arriving, a familiar, colorless figure walked passed the window, head down and hands stuffed in his pockets.
Grimmjow stopped the waitress, not bothering to pull his gaze from the man as he passed, only a few feet and a sheet of glass separating them. "Does he do this every evening?" He asked in a deep and rumbling voice.
The girl giggled quietly, trying to be flattering and friendly. She nodded and stood at his table with her hands clasped in front of her. "Every morning and every evening for as long as I've worked here." She told him.
Grimmjow grunted and dropped a bill large enough to cover the price of his meal plus tip and scooted from the booth. He walked out the door, his food untouched and still hot. The waitress watched in confusion and bafflement as he passed by the window, headed in the same direction of the man everyone knew of but knew nothing about.
The man with the white hair and white complexion was named Shirosaki and he didn't get very far down the road and away from the main drag of town when he realized he was being followed. People avoided him, they pointed and they whispered and they stared, they were cruel and they shouted things or made fun of him, but they rarely drew near him or followed him. On the few occasions someone had, said person had almost always been accompanied by a small group and it only ever ended badly for Shiro. So when someone didn't shy away from him, when someone paid him too much attention, Shiro took notice. He couldn't afford another hospital bill, nor the day it would take the local ER staff to figure out that he needed his medication more than he would need the stitches or the splints and casts.
But this time was different. The man that followed him now was alone and though he was by no means a small man, Shiro wasn't particularly worried. The man probably could have caused plenty of trouble for Shirosaki, but the pale man just didn't care anymore. He had nothing to care about, no reason to. He was alone for a reason and anymore he preferred it that way. He'd grown used to it, grown to accept it, realized that it was a gift, if not for him, than for others.
So he stuffed his hands in his pockets and though he kept discreet tabs on where the stranger with blue hair was, he didn't outwardly react and he kept walking. So what if he led the man to his home? He wasn't afraid of being robbed, he had nothing to steal. He wasn't afraid of being mugged, the stranger could have what little cash he had in his pocket, he had little use for it and it couldn't be brought to his grave with him.
By the time Shirosaki had left the main city, where the businesses were located and the larger, more expensive houses sat, he decided he just didn't really care. Why should he? So he walked down his driveway like he did every evening when he finally got home from work. He pushed his unlocked door open and crossed the threshold of his home but instead of gently nudging the door shut like he usually did, he left it hanging wide open in silent invitation to the stranger still following him.
As the pale man disappeared inside, Grimmjow hesitated, feeling beyond ridiculous for following a complete stranger to his home. He knew the door had been left open for him. He just knew it, nothing needed to said aloud. The man knew he had followed him and he didn't mind, nor was he afraid and that spoke volumes to Grimmjow. In a day and age where people feared their own shadows and paranoia made neighbors into scary and dangerous strangers, it was odd for someone to leave their door open, to invite a stranger into their home so casually and carelessly.
Curiosity got the better of the blue haired man and he slowly, almost carefully accepted that invitation. He walked up to the man's open doorway and peeked around the frame, finding the man standing at his kitchen table, stripping a jacket off as he pulled a few bottles of prescription pills from a cabinet. The pale man didn't turn toward him, didn't look up at him, he merely gestured further into the small house, to a sparse looking sitting area, as he counted the medication out.
Grimmjow's brows furrowed but he stepped inside and quietly shut the door behind himself, toeing his shoes off once inside and leaving them beside the pale man's own. He didn't say a word as he entered the man's home, following that subtle gesture and entering the sitting room. The space was nearly bare, no pictures hung on the walls, there was no television. A small bookshelf sat against one wall, it's shelves half full of various books, the covers beat up and aged like they had been read a hundred times. A couch sat against the wall opposite the bookshelf and a long, narrow and low standing coffee table sat between, covered by a white cloth that swept to the floor on all sides and touched the beige carpet. A few items sat across it's top; a few papers, an envelope, a bottle of black nail polish, but still nothing overly personal.
"Make yerself comfortable." A distorted and watery voice bid him, the tone quiet but neutral, not hostile nor overly friendly.
Grimmjow glanced toward the pale man, hidden from view by a wall that separated the kitchen from the sitting area, before he looked around behind himself and carefully sat down on the edge of the couch. As curious as ever and somehow sensing that this wasn't a very typical situation, Grimmjow quirked a brow and looked back over toward the doorway that led toward the exit and the entrance for the kitchen.
The pale man was still hidden from sight. Looking back down at the low coffee table sitting before him, Grimmjow curiously lifted one corner of the oversized white cloth that covered it. He was met with smooth, flawless white wood. It wasn't a table leg, but rather looked like a solid sheet of wood. Frowning, his sever blue brows furrowed even further than normal, he pulled the cloth up a bit further until he could get a peek at the top edge of the table. A carefully, skillfully painted silver band ringed the edge where it looked as though the top of the table could be pulled off the sides that held it up and suddenly, Grimmjow's brows shot to his hairline as he shot to his feet, pulling the rest of the cloth with him.
The few objects that had been sitting atop the table fell to the ground in a clatter that seemed deafening in the otherwise silent house but Grimmjow couldn't bring himself to notice. He stared down at a white, perfectly crafted coffin. The wood it was made of had been sanded to a smooth finish and painted by an artist's hand. Lacquer coated the paint with a clear sealant for protection, the distribution even and smooth and almost impossible to see. The top had been beveled with small, shallow and curling patterns, the attention to detail and perfect craftsmanship giving an almost loving air to what should have been grisly work. Over all, the coffin was beautiful in a way such a thing should not have been.
The small commotion had drawn Shirosaki's attention and the pale man knew what had happened without actually seeing it. In silence, he left his kitchen to stand in the entrance of the short hall that looked into his sitting room as he finished swallowing the last of that evening's dose of pills. Blue eyes, the color unlike anything Shiro had ever seen and piercing in an almost painful way, rose away from the coffin to match the pale man's own sickly, gold on black eyes.
White brows furrowed at the unspoken question as Shiro averted his gaze and slowly eased into the room. His motions unhurried and at ease, he made his way to the couch and sat down beside where the stranger stood looking down at him in silent question.
A small smirk tilted the pale man's lips but it held an odd edge, not quite the amusement that Grimmjow would have expected. Slowly, he sat down as well, not taking his eyes from the man. The silence stretched between them and Grimmjow began to wonder if the man had ever spoken at all, if he even could or if he would again.
Finally, Shiro broke the quiet. The blue haired stranger's expressive cyan eyes seemed to compel him to speak, to tell this man things that he had told no one else about. No one knew him, no one wanted to know him, but Shiro found himself opening up to this stranger that had followed him home. So he told the man everything.
"I build coffins fer a livin'. It's the only job someone like me could get but I found tha' it's actually kinda peaceful in a way. It helps me...cope, taught me how ta understand and le's me think while I work." Shiro said in his odd, lilting voice. He ran a hand almost tenderly over the white coffin. "Everybody always buys black coffins. I guess it's more fittin' fer the sombre mood of the end of a life, fer a funeral where people go ta mourn and be sad. Death is seen as something ta be feared or ran away from. It's black, like the coffins they buy. But fer me... well, i's different, jus' like I am. I got nuthin' else ta look forward to. No future ta live through, I was born wit' out one..."
Grimmjow sat quietly as the man spoke. He didn't know his name, didn't know where he came from, but he learned everything else about the pale man and he found himself unable to look away, unable to speak up or interrupt the man's lilting tale.
Shirosaki had been born into a normal family. They weren't well off but they weren't poor either. They had their own home and his parents were happily married to one another and more than in love with each other and with their children. He had been born with a brother, a twin that looked just like him; two happy little baby boys with deep brown eyes and shining orange hair. Family and friends liked to point out how much they looked like their mother. But it was quickly discovered that one of the babies wasn't quite right.
Shirosaki didn't act like his twin did. He smiled and he was as happy as a baby could be, but by the time the twins turned one, his eyes seemed to grow cloudy, the whites not quite so bright and shining like his bother's. His pallor seemed to grow paler by the week, his bright orange hair with it.
Worried for their son, his parents took him to the doctor. They were heartbroken to learn that one of their beloved baby boys had a rare and incurable disease, one that would slowly kill him, even with treatment. They were devastated and they did everything in their power to care for their sick child but he only got sicker and they quickly ran out of the funds needed to take care of him, to buy his medicine and treat him properly, to keep him as happy and comfortable as was possible. They were forced to make a horrid choice; keep their beloved son and pay for his treatments for as long as they could while they could hardly take care of their other, healthy son and themselves, or give Shiro away to a family that could better care for him and would in turn allow them to continue to better care for the son they still had.
In the end, there had really only been one option. Papers were filled out, doctors were consulted and Shirosaki was put up for adoption and separated from his brother and his parents.
"After I got old enough, I tried ta find 'em..." The pale man all but whispered, his strange eyes trained on the coffin in the middle of his home. "But they moved. I found the old house, even searched the entirety a my home town, but they hadn't been able ta stand livin' in the home I had last lived in, where they had been forced ta let me go. So they left. I don' blame 'em...they did wha' they thought was best fer me and fer them."
He eventually found out where his brother had ended up. Unlike Shiro, his twin had gone to college, which is where he was at that moment. Shirosaki shifted, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. With care that showed how much he valued what he held, he pulled a single picture from his wallet and handed it over to the blue haired stranger, letting his smile grow into something less resigned.
Looking out from the photo was a young man with the pale one's same build, same features. But his hair was a brilliant, shining orange and his deep brown eyes danced with a contagious happiness. His skin was a healthy, lightly tanned tone and barely noticeable freckles dusted the bridge of his straight nose. A bright smile creased pink lips and brought out the young man's dimples.
"Tha's Ichigo." He told the blue haired stranger in a happy, almost warm tone. "I emailed him fer the first time last year an' we been talkin' and gettin' ta know each other again ever since." Then something seemed to sink in the pale man's features and his voice grew quiet once more. "He wants ta meet me, gave me his number an' his address an' everythin', but I ain't ganna go see him. I can't. He's always so happy...so alive... Seein' me wouldn' be good fer 'im nor would it be good fer our parents if they found out. They would have ta see the child, the brother, they were forced ta give up an' it would crush Ichi ta see how I'm doin'. This way, through nothin' bu' the computer screen and texts, he don' have ta know I'm dyin. He don' have ta know how sick I'm gettin'..."
The colorless man gently took the photo back when Grimmjow passed it to him, looking at it with fondness before tucking it safely back into his wallet and continuing his story. Still Grimmjow remained quiet and let the man speak.
When Shiro dropped out of high school, unable to pay for the medication he took to prolong the inevitable with the money accorded to him for being a ward of the state, he got a job at the only place that would hire someone like him. He wasn't normal looking and couldn't work where the public would see him. His complexion continued to deteriorate, making him pale and sickly looking until he had no color at all. The whites of his eyes continued to grow dark until they were the color they were now, black, and made his once warm brown eyes look brittle and cold. So he found employment with the local undertaker.
He built coffins for the dead to rest in and in doing so, he slowly began to find a sort of peace with himself and what was happening to him. He was around death so much it became natural, something that was inevitable and not something to be looked down upon or saddened by. Death was just death and that was fine because he knew he would find his sooner rather than later. He wouldn't grow old, he wouldn't find success or create a family of his own or go to college. He would never know what it was like to be normal and alive and truly happy. He would never know what it was to be able to forget that death was what awaited them all. But that was alright, he had grown used to it, grown to accept it and it didn't really bother him anymore.
"When I die... I don' really got any family ta claim my body, not really... They put me up fer adoption, but I was the sickly kid tha' no couple would wan', so my birth certificate's blank. My body'll either be cremated and disposed of, or donated ta some science project. So I built my own coffin," Shiro leaned forward and gently rapped his knuckles against the top of the coffin.
"tha' way, if fer some reason or somehow my real family manages ta find out tha'...it finally happened, they won' have ta worry abou' it. No one will. I got the expensive part outta the way." He shrugged slightly and rested his elbows on his knees. "I'm still workin' on buyin' a plot at the cemetery, but I got most a tha' money saved away too, so tha's not really a big deal anymore either."
"W-why white?" Grimmjow finally found his voice, his deep, rumbling tone a bit rougher than was normal for him.
A small smirk found it's way back onto the pale man's features. "Fer most people, death is dark, it's the end. It's sad and it's black. But I ain't really like others. Fer me...my whole life hasn' been very bright, it's more black than it is white. So...my coffin's white, it's different an' it's bright. It's unlike any a the others I've ever built an' it's beautiful."
Eventually, the pale man's condition began to get the better of him and as the hours ticked by and the sun dipped below the horizon, he began showing his illness. The longer they sat and talked, the more tired and worn out the pale man looked, the more sickly he appeared. He fell quiet, out of the energy needed to keep talking and keep a conversation going.
Grimmjow let himself out, almost having to plead with the man to stay where he was and not get up to show him out. But before Grimmjow closed the door behind himself to leave, he quickly turned about and reentered the stranger's home. It was only a few steps that separated the front door from the sitting area and he paused in the hallway once more, looking into the room he had left the man sitting in.
The smaller man sat leaning forward, a white square of cloth held to his mouth and nose as he gagged into it. Grimmjow's brows furrowed and drew a step closer but he didn't interrupt and when the ill man noticed him and finally looked up, he did his best at hiding his concern.
Shirosaki was happy for the effort the man made to cover his reaction. He quickly folded the cloth and tucked it back away inside his pocket but he knew the blue haired stranger had seen the red that stained it. Wiping the his fingertips across his lips to make sure none of the bright fluid stained his pale features, he waited for the man to speak.
"You, uh, didn't tell me your name." Grimmjow said, a small smile quirking one corner of his lips.
Shirosaki returned the expression. It took him a moment to work up the strength to answer, but he did and the blue haired man was patient. "Ya can call me Shiro."
"I'm Grimmjow. It was nice meeting you, Shiro."
Shirosaki's smile grew and he nodded his appreciation and reciprocation of the sentiment. Grimmjow left after that, leaving the man to the rest he obviously needed.
The next morning Grimmjow sat in the small shop, drinking his coffee for nearly an hour. Shirosaki never walked by and he worried, but he didn't feel it was his place to check up on the man, so he forced himself to go about his day, arriving to work nearly an hour late. The morning after that, he was strangely relieved when he saw the pale man walk by outside and a smile crept onto his features. Grimmjow skipped work that day. He ended up at a flower shop on the other side of town and he bought the largest bouquet of white roses he could find and had them arranged with blue and silver ribbon.
Not long later, he made his way back toward the restaurant and stood out front, leaning against the building as he waited. Sure enough, Shiro came walking down the street, though he was bit later than normal and his steps were a bit slower.
Hands stuffed in his pockets and head down, he walked right passed Grimmjow, hardly recognizing the big man. Grimmjow frowned slightly and took a few jogging steps to bring himself up to the pale man's side.
"Shiro." The pale man jumped slightly, his head jerking up and around to see who spoke his name. Grimmjow chuckled as they stopped walking.
"Ya shouldn' sneak up on people like tha'." Shiro's lilting tone was amused but there was an underlying strain to it. His odd eyes were almost automatically drawn to the flowers the man carried before going back up to see the blue haired man give a wide grin.
Classic grin in place, Grimmjow subtly turned Shiro around and led him back toward the restaurant's entrance as he handed him the flowers. "Have dinner with me."
A smirk tugged at Shiro's pale features before the expression melted away. He shook his head and paused and Grimmjow didn't miss how his breathing seemed just a bit harder than it should have been. The man did well at hiding it, but once up close, once someone really looked at him, it was clear he wasn't healthy.
"You need your medication..." Grimmjow half guessed, half stated with a grimace. He received a slight nod in answer. Grimmjow gently took the man's free hand, the one not holding the flowers, and slowly led him through the doors of the small restaurant.
The staff looked up, expecting to see him alone. They were shocked when they saw the pale man he brought with him and their stares lingered until Grimmjow looked up at them with a withering but silent sneer.
"Come on..." He said quietly, gently as he led the sick man to the booth he usually sat in alone to eat. "Stay here, you leave your door unlocked, right? Stay here and rest and I'll bring it to you."
Shirosaki let himself be guided down into the seat but he looked up at the bigger man with a frown and shook his head again, unsure about having his routine disrupted. He had a set pattern that he followed, had to follow. He was in the later stages of the disease and he knew it, he could feel it. If he missed a dose, it wouldn't take long for his body to begin shutting down and giving out on him...
Grimmjow could see how unsure the smaller man was, so he gently pulled the flowers from Shiro's pale hand and laid them on the table. "It will only take me a few minutes to get there...it would take you at least twenty minutes to walk that far..."
The pale man glanced around the small shop, casting a wary eye over the people inside, both patrons and staff. Everyone watched him, some more discreet in their curiosity than others. He swallowed and started to speak, but instead of words coming out, he coughed and had to turn away, pulling a clean white cloth from his pocket.
"Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes." Grimmjow said and straightened, not giving the man time to recover and deny his request. As he walked by one of the waitresses he knew well enough, he told her to take care of him, to get him whatever he wanted and to make sure no one bothered him. The woman nodded before approaching the table the strange outcast sat at.
"Are you alright, sir?" She asked almost timidly. A quick nod was her answer as the man began to recover and folded the cloth away once more. "Can I get you something?"
Shiro turned an unsure gaze toward her, looking more nervous than he needed to. He quickly averted his eyes and looked down at the table top, shaking his head as he mumbled a distorted. "No thanks."
"Can I at least get you a water while you wait for Mr. Jaegerjaquez to return?"
Shiro finally relented and he gratefully accepted the glass of ice water while he sat. True to Grimmjow's promise, it hadn't taken him long to drive out to Shirosaki's house and grab the bottles of pills the man needed.
After taking his pills, they ordered dinner and they ate in a peaceful and companionable quiet, though Grimmjow couldn't help but notice how the man's appetite seemed to be lacking. He somehow knew it was the disease and the medication and how they affected him. Now that he knew what he was seeing when looking at the pale man that had only days before been a stranger, he could tell just how hard Shirosaki struggled against his illness.
When they were finished, Grimmjow ordered dessert and managed to convince Shirosaki to split it with him. The sweeter, less filling and heavy food seemed to go down easier for the pale man, for which Grimmjow was thankful and he actually ended up letting Shiro eat more of it than he did.
Afterward, Grimmjow insisted on paying the tab and he drove Shirosaki back to his house on the edge of town. As Shiro climbed from the car, he paused and turned to look back at the blue haired man, an odd expression on his features.
"Why're ya doin' this?" He asked quietly, his tone almost brittle.
Grimmjow frowned at him, giving him a confused look. "Because I like you, Shiro."
"Ya can't get attached ta me..." Shirosaki's brows pulled together as his already distorted voice seemed to grow even more watery. "You'll only end up gettin' hurt...I-I can' be around-"
"I know." Grimmjow cut him off. "I know...I've already thought about that, but I really do like you and I wont let you be alone for the rest of whatever time you have left. You deserve better than what you've had to go through."
Grimmjow climbed from his car and walked the pale man into his home. He found a vase to put the flowers in while he made Shiro sit and the pale man couldn't help the small smirk that tugged at his features. As odd as it was to have someone care for him, as strange as it was to have someone help him, he quickly found he appreciated it, even liked it to some degree. It was strangely relieving, somehow.
The blue haired man, no longer a stranger, spent the night at Shirosaki's home. When Shiro fell asleep on the couch beside him, Grimmjow bent and easily lifted him up. The pale man instinctively curled against the man holding him in his sleep as Grimmjow carried him further into his home to find his bedroom. As Grimmjow tried to lay the smaller man in his bed, Shiro shivered against him and made a noise of protest so, after only a moment of hesitation, Grimmjow slid into the bed beside him, fully clothed and hardly tired. He pulled the sleeping man close and pulled the blankets up to cover him.
Grimmjow was startled awake by Shirosaki's fit of coughing as the pale man gagged on what came up. After he had managed to get it under control, Shiro assured Grimmjow that that was becoming a normal morning routine and that he needn't be concerned. Of course, Grimmjow still was, how could he not be? But he didn't push it and he followed the pale man into the kitchen so that he could take that morning's dose of his pills.
Shirosaki skipped work that day as well, simply lacking the energy to make it to his place of business. Once more Grimmjow didn't push it and he too missed work, uncaring if his higher ups would be mad at him.
In the next couple of weeks, the two grew closer. They became nearly inseparable and the days that Shiro was feeling up to going to work, they both stopped and ate breakfast at the small restaurant that Grimmjow frequented. When Shiro wasn't feeling well, they stayed home, usually at Shiro's place because that's where the pale man was most comfortable at. Somedays they hardly even climbed from bed except when it was time to give Shiro his medicine or nature called.
Nearing the end of the month, the pale man's prescription was running low and Shirosaki almost shyly asked if Grimmjow would go with him to his doctor. He hated going there, he hated the hospital and he hated the people that worked there. He hated that it smelled like sick and antiseptic and he hated that the doctor always tried to discuss a more prolonged stay at the hospital than just his short, half hour long visit each month.
But Shiro refused to spend any more of his time stuck in a hospital room than he had to. He didn't have the luxury of a long and healthy life, so he wanted to make the most of what he did have, even if that meant avoiding a place staffed with people that could better take care of him.
Grimmjow agreed to go. On the way there, Shiro stared out the car window as he confessed another bit of information to the blue haired man. He didn't know why he felt compelled to tell the man such things, but it was just like the first time they had met.
"The doctors are surprised I'm still alive..." He said quietly as Grimmjow drove, his gold on black eyes watching the buildings go by, though he didn't really see them. "They always tell me I must be damn strong ta fight so hard and so long. I shoulda died years ago s'what they tell me...They call me lucky... But I think I'm startin' ta loose tha' fight...there's more blood and less energy by the day."
The doctors appointment went exactly as Shiro had figured it would go and his suspicions were only confirmed. The disease was beginning to progress more quickly and his body was beginning to wear out and loose the fight.
Grimmjow tried to get Shiro to call his twin, to invite his long lost brother over. He offered to take Shiro to Ichigo, if he would have preferred that instead. But Shirosaki still stood by what he had told Grimmjow the day they had met; he didn't want to burden his brother with such a horrid knowledge and so they continued to only talk over text and IMing. But Ichigo surely could tell something wasn't right as his twin's replies began to come at a slower rate, the messages shorter and with more mistakes in them.
"Shiro, he already knows your sick... that's why you two didn't grow up together." Grimmjow tried desperately to convince him. He knew how much it would mean to the pale man, and he knew it would probably mean the world to Ichigo as well, though he only knew what Shiro chose to tell him about the more colorful, healthier twin.
As the days went by, Shiro grew weaker more quickly. Somedays he couldn't even get out of bed on his own. Grimmjow practically lived with him. They didn't visit the restaurant anymore, Shiro could hardly make the walk out to the car, let alone sit in their usual booth and force food down his throat. Every morning, Grimmjow would brush his long hair out of his face, bend down to kiss him and help him into the sitting room before bringing him his medication. Every morning it tore the blue haired man's heart out, but he refused to leave Shiro's side.
Finally, after failing at convincing Shiro to call his brother, Grimmjow did it himself. He knew Shiro would be mad at first, but he also knew he would appreciate it when he finally got to see Ichigo in person for the first time in almost twenty years.
The task was an easy one. While Shiro slept fitfully in his bed, his breathing heavier than it should have been, his pale brow furrowed, Grimmjow grabbed his phone and pulled up the contact under the name 'Ichigo'. The two had exchanged phone numbers, so Grimmjow knew Ichigo would recognize Shiro's number.
The line was picked up on the second ring and smooth, warm voice drifted over the speaker, a hint of surprise and unsureness in the tone. "Shiro?"
"No..." Grimmjow rumbled. "I mean," He paused again and sighed, running his hand through his tussled blue hair as he found that saying what he'd intended to was a bit more difficult than he'd thought it would be. "Ok, my name's Grimmjow. I'm Shiro's, ah, boyfriend I guess..."
They had never really discussed what they were, never made anything official because they both knew Shiro didn't really have the time to be worried over such titles.
"Oh...is everything alright? How is he?" Ichigo sounded genuinely concerned from the other end. In the background, Grimmjow could hear talking and a crowd and he guessed the younger man was probably on campus somewhere.
"No, not really." Grimmjow's voice shook just slightly, just enough to be heard. "He's sick, I'm sure you know, that's why he doesn't want to meet you in person, but he's running out of time and I know how much it would mean to him..."
"He has my address, you can come over whenever, the both of you. I'd like to meet his boyfriend as well." A small smile could be heard with that last part and it made a small smirk want to twitch onto Grimmjow's lips too but he couldn't quite manage it.
"I don't think that's really a possibility anymore..." Grimmjow told him in a quiet voice. "He's, uh, I'm not sure he'd be able to make a car ride that long right now..."
There was a long moment of silence where nothing but the background noise could be heard before Ichigo spoke again. "What's the address? When should I come?"
"As soon as you can..." Grimmjow rattled off the address.
"What about today? I can skip classes and leave now..." Ichigo asked, and Grimmjow could hear as he moved away from whoever was being noisy in the background.
"Yeah, that would be great. He's asleep right now, but it'll take you a few hours to get here, he should be alright by then." Grimmjow hung up the phone with Ichigo's promise to be there as soon as he could be. He put Shiro's phone back down on the makeshift coffee table, grimacing at the thought of what it really was and the tragic truth the white cloth hid.
He sank to the couch and stared blankly at the white sheet that covered Shiro's coffin for a few minutes before he stood again and made his way to the bedroom, where he sat down on the edge of the bed and gently ran his fingers through long ashen locks, pushing them away from Shiro's face as he studies the pale man's sleep slack features.
A couple hours later, a tentative knock on the front door roused Grimmjow from his thoughts. He frowned as he glanced at the clock and back to Shiro's still sleeping form. He knew the man only slept, his chest rose and fell slowly and a small, stifled cough escaped every so often, but it was still odd that he had managed to sleep for so long. He should have been happy for the extra rest the ill man was getting, but he only worried.
Standing, Grimmjow crossed the small house and pulled the front door open to reveal a young man Shiro's hight and build but with brilliant orange hair.
"Uh, hello." Ichigo said a bit awkwardly as he looked up at the bigger man. "You must be Grimmjow."
Grimmjow snorted a small laugh, though his strained smirk held little humor, and nodded before stepping out of the doorway and sweeping his arm out behind himself to allow Ichigo through. "That would be me. Come on in."
He shut the door quietly behind Ichigo as the orange haired man almost nervously made his way toward the sitting room, glancing around at the sparseness of his twin's home. "Where's Shiro?"
"He's actually still asleep, but I'll go get him." Grimmjow passed the smaller man and headed toward the bedroom.
"Oh, no, don't wake him. I can wait." Ichigo tried to stop the big man, but Grimmjow waved him off.
"No, he needs to take his medication anyway. He's already an hour late." And an hour was more than long enough, in Grimmjow's opinion. That medication helped Shiro keep fighting.
Ichigo frowned and awkwardly stood between the low coffee table and the bookshelf as he waited. He strained to listen to the small sounds from down the hall, to where he assumed the bedroom must have been. His frown deepened as he heard weak but almost violent coughing accompany the shifting of a mattress. Only a few moments later, the blue haired man's rumbling voice could be heard, telling Shiro he had a surprise for him. That brought a smile to Ichigo's features and helped to ease his nervousness.
The floor of the hall creaked slightly as the two made their way toward the sitting room and Ichigo turned to face that direction, holding his breath in anticipation. When Shiro finally made it that far, Grimmjow hovering at his side but letting him walk under his own strength, the pale man froze as his eyes landed on his twin. Those inverted eyes widened as he tried to find words but whatever he was going to say died in his throat.
Ichigo was glad for the man's surprise and for the small amount of time it took Shiro to get over his shock. It gave Ichigo time to take in his brother's startling appearance and get over it so that things wouldn't be so awkward.
"Grimm...I could kill ya fer this..." Shiro breathed as he unsteadily took a few steps toward the young man standing in his house, a young man that looked exactly like him, had he not been so sickly.
Behind Shiro, Grimmjow let a much happier smirk crease his features and bent slightly to kiss the top of Shiro's head before he edge around him to go retrieve his medication from the kitchen counter where the bottles were kept. Ichigo listened to them rattle around, but Shiro was so used to the sound he hardly took notice of it at all.
When Grimmjow came back in and began handing him pills and a half full glass of water, Shiro apologized to Ichigo, for having to see him like that but Ichigo would have none of it. He was being honest when he told his twin how happy he was to finally meet him again and a smirk managed to slash across Shiro's startling features while he downed his medication with a shaky hand.
After helping Shirosaki lower himself to rest on the couch, Grimmjow told them he had a few things to take care of and that he would give them some privacy. He nudged Ichigo toward the couch and his sick twin on his way before telling them, both of them, to call him if they needed anything. He gave the more colorful a pointed look, knowing Shiro would never do any such thing, and Ichigo seemed to understand. With a subtle nod, he agreed and told the blue haired man that he would call if Shiro needed anything.
As much as Grimmjow hated being away from the pale man he had quickly grown to care about, he left the two alone for most of the day and busied himself with making arrangements at the local cemetery, giving them time to talk and get to know each other a little better. It wasn't until that evening that he got a message. On his way back to Shiro's house, his phone buzzed in his pocket and he quickly fished it out. It was a text from Ichigo and it had his heart in his throat until he opened it and read it.
'He's amazing, I wish we could have met sooner. Thank you so much for doing this.'
Grimmjow smirked and closed the phone so that he could concentrate on driving. Later that night, after Ichigo had left with the promise to return again soon, Shiro sat at Grimmjow's side, his head resting on the bigger man's chest and one of Grimmjow's muscled arms thrown gently around his shoulders. He thanked Grimmjow for calling Ichigo, he thanked him for following him home and getting to know him when no one else would. He thanked him for taking care of him and making him open up. He thanked him for everything.
Shiro didn't make it to the next month. He had fought hard, but it had been a loosing fight since birth and he was finally forced to give in.
Because Grimmjow had been the closest to him, he was allowed to make the arrangements. His funeral was small, private. Only a handful of people were told about it and it was held in the same funeral home Shiro had worked in. He rested at the front of the room in his white coffin, the casket left open to the few viewers.
A young man with shining orange hair walked up to him, stood in silence as he looked down at the twin that had been taken from him twice now. Two younger girls shyly, timidly stood beside Ichigo, one to each side and hands clasped in Ichigo's as they also looked down at the pale man. They were the sisters Shiro never got to meet, probably didn't even know he had.
Grimmjow didn't leave his side during the short service but he didn't cry, he was sad of course, but he had known this would happen. Both of them did. As much as it hurt to look at the pale man laying so still and silent in his beautiful, hand crafted coffin, Grimmjow didn't regret his decision to get to know him or to take the time to grow close to him. He didn't regret that he had sat by Shiro's side, holding his hand and talking to him in a deep, soft voice while he had finally taken his last breath. He didn't regret that he told Shiro he loved him before he had finally fallen silent and the smile that had creased the pale man's features would forever be with Grimmjow for as long as he lived.
Shirosaki was just the local outcast. He built black coffins and dealt with death everyday, with things most people feared, the things most people had the luxury or ignoring. It was something he couldn't escape even when he left his place of employment and made his way across town to his home. But it hadn't corrupted him, made him bitter or turned his spirit black. Shirosaki, the man everyone knew of but no one actually knew, was the most beautiful thing Grimmjow had ever seen.
~
My boy builds coffins and I think it's a shame
That when each one's been made, he can't see it again
He crafts every one with love and with care
Then it's thrown in the ground and it just isn't fair
My boy builds coffins he makes them all day
But it's not just for work and it isn't for play
He's made one for himself
One for me too
Why do I do this to myself? TT^TT Seriously though, please give me your thoughts.